


At Second Sight

by Mad_Mage



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Attempt at Humor, Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Friendship/Love, Growling Lannisters, Happy Ending, Irritated big cats, Light Angst, Older Man/Younger Woman, Secret Crush, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 16:47:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20979140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Mage/pseuds/Mad_Mage
Summary: She laughed a little nervously at the very idea. She loved Tyrion like a brother, therefore she wasn’t above strangling him if he was making too much fun of her. Suggesting that she should go, invite herself into his father’s house and make sure that the man was managing to ‘live on his own,’ was ridiculous.---Modern AU featuring scheming Tyrion and the unexpected results of his plan. There’s also a lot of blushing on Sansa’s part, a crush, and some irritated growling from certain Old Lion.





	At Second Sight

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Nothing’s mine, I’m just a poor mad mage.

Sansa choked and spluttered, green tea coming up and out through her nose. How embarrassing, how utterly unladylike.

“Oh, I shocked you, didn’t I?” asked Tyrion with wide eyes and offered her paper tissues, using his free hand to wipe off his face from the said tea. “Sorry, please, don’t shower me with that stuff, darling, no more!”

“That’s – cough – not funny!” She protested. Her rightful indignation was, however, quickly replaced with mirth as she grabbed the tissues and helped clean up the table. “Where were we? Oh, yes. I thought you just asked me to _babysit_ your father.”

She laughed a little nervously at the very idea. She loved Tyrion like a brother, therefore she wasn’t above strangling him if he was making too much fun of her. Suggesting that she should go, invite herself into his father’s house and make sure that the man was managing to ‘live on his own,’ was ridiculous.

“That’s what I said, yeah.” Tyrion wasn’t grinning, though. He cracked a small smile and then his face grew serious again as he stared at the tabletop splattered with green tea.

Sansa blinked at him and stilled for a second, just looking at the top of his curly golden hair curiously. She had known Tyrion since he had been nine. She had babysat him and later tutored him until he had gone to the uni last year. She loved children and had always wanted to be a teacher, so helping out Uncle Robert’s in-laws with babysitting their little son had been no bother at all and a little shy Tyrion and a teenaged sweet Sansa had hit it off from the very start. The fact that Mr. Lannister was more than generous and tutoring Tyrion in the later years had helped her financially quite a lot during her own studies was an added bonus.

“You are serious. I don’t think I remember you ever being serious, Tyri.”

“Well, I never before was an orphan, was I?” he scoffed and then shook his head. “Sorry, I… Just sorry.”

Sansa patted his hand on the table gently and offered him a small, understanding smile. Mrs. Lannister had just passed away and Sansa understood more than Tyrion believed how the loss of a parent affected a family. She supposed that he was afraid for his father now that he was studying in Braavos. It would mean that Mr. Lannister would be really on his own most of the time. She doubted that he needed to worry, though – Sansa wasn’t sure that she had ever met a man stronger and more unflappable than Mr. Lannister.

She was, quite frankly, terrified of the man and had always been – Sansa had been very grateful that it had been mostly Mrs. Lannister who she had been meeting and not Tyrion’s father.

“It’s ok, I understand.” Her own father had died several years ago. The hole he had left behind was still there and she believed that a vital part of her would always be missing.

“Well, yeah…Uhm, so… Could you do that? For me?” He raised his head, doing his best to look like a kicked puppy. Gods, he knew she couldn’t say no to those eyes. Sometimes, she hated her own nature. She was so damn good-hearted.

“Yeah, ok, I’ll make sure he’s alright,” she sighed. Sansa couldn’t quite believe her own ears when she heard herself saying it. Nervously tugging at her right sleeve, she asked, “What exactly do you want me to do? Just barge in once a week without an explanation?”

“You’re a clever girl, Sans, you’ll figure something out,” said Tyrion happily. “Now, do you want another tea? I feel like I should buy you a new one seeing that most of your drink ended up on me.”

Yes, one of these days, she would strangle Tyrion Lannister, Sansa decided and resisted the urge to hit her head against the nearest wall. What the hell she had just promised to do?

***

The house – well, mansion, really – was completely dark. It was located in the suburbs more than 30 minutes’ drive from the parts of city Sansa usually frequented and she was uncertain why the hell she was even really doing this.

Sansa checked the time, unsure if she was too early. No, she was actually a bit late – according to Tyrion, his father was usually home around eight at the latest. Perhaps Mr. Lannister was staying a little longer in his office now when there was no need to rush back home.

Her mother hadn’t been able to bear staying home alone in the first few months after Dad’s accident.

Sansa was actually glad that she had decided to do this for Tyrion. No one deserved to be left alone when facing such a difficult time in their lives, and that included the scary Mr. Lannister.

What she should do, though? She waited for several minutes, uncertainty eating at her. It was freezing outside and she felt the coming snow in the air. She had always liked that most about winter. The snow.

Glancing into the dark windows of the house, she made her decision. It was kind of depressing returning home while all the lights were out and Tyrion had given her the keys, after all.

She would slip in, turn on the lights and wait for Mr. Lannister inside where she wouldn’t be slowly freezing to death in her small battered car.

Her fingers were slightly trembling as she unlocked the door and then turn on the lights. Sneaking into other people’s home was making her slightly nervous and her good manners prompted her to call out, “Hello? Is anybody home?”

There was no answer – not that she expected one.

Swallowing, she made her way further into the house. She felt uncomfortable at first but she knew Tyrion’s home as well as her own and soon she strode through the large house completely at ease, turning on lights on her way up to her friend’s bedroom.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing, young lady?” growled an angry voice from behind her just as she started to ascend the second flight of stairs.

Sansa’s heart jumped up in her chest as she whirled around. “Oh! Gods!”

Mr. Lannister was not amused. He was standing at the end of the corridor, arms crossed over his chest. He was still wearing a dress shirt and shockingly red tie but there was no jacket and his sleeves were rolled up. Sansa swallowed and allowed herself a moment to stare at him in shock.

She definitely didn’t remember Tyrion’s father to be so… so… so very much like Jaime on whom Sansa had had an embarrassingly long crush when she had been a teenager. Mr. Lannister was slender and tall – she knew that he was tall, of course – but he had broad shoulders and strong arms. She found her gaze lingering on the outline of his biceps for a moment before he cleared his throat and started to move closer. The way he walked reminded her of a predator gracefully approaching his prey.

“I asked you a question. You better answer it.”

When he was standing close enough, she trained her eyes on his face and immediately regretted doing it. His eyes were impossibly green – not unlike Tyrion’s – but they were narrowed in anger. He had the same perfectly sculptured face as Tyri’s older brother – strong jaw and chin, covered in short golden beard streaked with silver. Gods, both sons really did take after their father, didn’t they?

“I-I’m really sorry,” she stuttered, cursing herself inwardly as she ducked her head, “It looked like no one was home… and… well…”

“Yes?” he hissed and leaned over her. She bit her lower lip when she breathed in his cologne – there was also the faint scent of cigars clinging to his skin and whiskey on his breath.

What had he been doing? Brooding in the dark, drinking? That didn’t sit well with her and Sansa squared her shoulders and lifted her head to look him in the eye.

“Tyrion asked me to drop by and go through some of his books. He wants me to scan something and send it to him. I’m sorry I just barged in… B-but he gave me the keys and said it’d be okay…”

As she was speaking, she could see the tension leaving Mr. Lannister’s body, a bewildered expression appearing on his face. “Miss Stark?”

“Yes?” She smiled sheepishly and then she watched as he blinked, shaking his head. He hadn’t known it was her? He hadn’t! Sansa’s looks hadn’t basically changed since hitting puberty.

“I couldn’t recognize you at first, my apologies for the less than hospitable welcome,” he said. He relaxed his posture and stopped crowding her personal space. “You startled me. I expected to see a little thief sneaking around the house, not my son’s former babysitter.”

“Sorry, Mr. Lannister.”

They looked at each other, his eyes flicking around her face for several moments. From up this close, she could see that they were slightly red – as if he had been either crying or drinking for some time. He didn’t look drunk or… in any sort of emotional distress but one could never be sure.

“Ehm, and… ah… How are you, Mr. Lannister?” she asked finally when she was starting to feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny.

“I’m well, thank you. And you, Miss Stark?” He stepped away from her even further and gestured for her to continue on her way. She did so but she kept looking over her shoulder at him as he silently followed her.

“I’m really good. Just started my first job, actually.”

“You’re a teacher if I remember correctly.”

“Yes! I’ve got first graders. It’s so exciting…” and to her utter mortification, Sansa started to babble about all the children in her care and she couldn’t stop speaking until they reached Tyrion’s bedroom. Then she fell silent and blushed, stepping inside. She started to go through Tyrion’s impressive collection of books slowly, well aware of Mr. Lannister’s continued presence.

He leaned against the doorframe and was watching her, arms yet again crossed over his chest. She could feel his gaze burning holes into her back as she desperately tried to find something interesting in the books that could warrant her presence in his home.

When she grew tired of the silence, she flipped the nearest book open, checked that it was about sea-life from around Casterly Rock and tucked the book under her arm. “Here it is. Thank you, Mr. Lannister.”

Mr. Lannister nodded, moving out of the doorway so she could pass. “What was so important that it couldn’t wait for Tyrion’s return?”

“A bet. He had made a bet with one of his flatmates about some fish or something.”

“And he couldn’t bother to call me? It might come as a shock, Miss Stark, but I can also use a scanner and I actually live here. You, on the other hand, will have to drive for another 30 minutes to get back to King’s Landing.”

Sansa felt the heat in her cheeks rising. “Well…”

“Aren’t you going to tell me the real reason why I caught you sneaking around my house?”

She glanced up into his face and then she sighed. Mr. Lannister didn’t look angry anymore – he looked curios more or less… But she couldn’t be sure, he was hard to read.

“Oh, ok, you see…”

“The truth this time, Miss Stark.” He raised an eyebrow at her, his piercing eyes trained at her without blinking. It was like staring down a barrel of a gun.

“Tyrion asked me to check on you, to see if you’re doing alright,” she finally mumbled. Sansa was unable to meet his gaze and stared at the ground, not believing she had actually told him the truth. They started moving down the stairs now.

“I see,” he said finally impassively. He stopped at the main entrance and held out his hand palm up. “The keys, if you please. I’ll return them to my son after I have a long chat with him.”

Oh, he sounded irritated all of sudden and Sansa glanced up into his face. He even _looked_ angry – at least, his eyes were glinting dangerously and his jaw was set firmly.

“He didn’t mean any disrespect, Mr. Lannister,” she said hurriedly. “He’s just concerned for you. Don’t be angry with him.”

“And who are you to tell me how to feel, Miss Stark? A first-grade teacher constantly babbling nonsense with the mental capabilities of a two-year-old, it seems,” he spat, took a deep breath through his nose and then closed his eyes. “Well, that was uncalled for. My apologies again, Miss Stark.”

Sansa held her breath when the apology tumbled out of his mouth. Mr. Lannister’s mask of calmness was cracked and she could clearly see that he was struggling with something – it could be pain or loneliness, agitation… or it could be a mix of those. She should not forget that he had lost his wife only several weeks ago. No one can deal with that quickly and not on their own. She knew that hard truth very well.

“It’s no problem, Mr. Lannister,” she whispered and gently touched his arm for a moment, startling him badly. Sansa smiled up at him and then dig into her purse. As a teacher, she always had several pens, pencils and even some brightly colored crayons somewhere in there. It took her a moment to locate the one she wanted. “No one is made of stone.”

“What are you doing?” He watched as she flipped the book open and wrote something on the first page. “Damaging books? I’d expect better from a teacher.”

“It’s only a pencil, you can erase it anytime,” she said with a slight grin, closed the book and carefully offered it to him.

Mr. Lannister looked at the book like it was a poisonous snake and didn’t move to take it. “What did you scribble inside?”

“I have no right to tell you how to feel, you’re right, but I am a good listener.” Sansa bit her lower lip, eyes flicking away from his intense gaze. “If… If you ever need someone to talk to about stuff, I wrote my number in there.”

Sansa reveled in the openly shocked expression on his face, offered him one last small smile and slipped around him through the door, carefully closing it behind her. The keys to the mansion were heavy in her pocket and her heart was beating slightly faster than she would like, but she felt like she had made the right decision.

When her dad had died, she hadn’t been alone. She still had had her family and the Starks had all come together in those hard times to support their own with the two older Baratheon brothers popping up here and now to take the younger kids to the zoo or cinema. Mr. Lannister was alone, though – Tyrion was away most of the time and the twins had each their own lives to worry about. She knew that Cersei was expecting her third child and it was a high-risk pregnancy, so her uncle’s wife couldn’t really be there for Mr. Lannister. Jaime was a soldier, serving at the other end of the globe and he hadn’t even been able to attend the funeral. She had no idea if there was anyone else but she doubted it. Tyrion had never mentioned any other relatives.

***

Weeks passed and winter had finally ended. Snow in King’s Landing never lasted and Sansa often found herself missing the heavy snowfall in Winterfell. It had been magical and her memories of visiting her grandparents were one of the happiest she had.

Tyrion hadn’t been happy that his plan had failed but he had been grateful that Sansa had at least tried. She could tell that he worried about his father, though, and she couldn’t help it and felt a little apprehensive herself.

Mr. Lannister was often on her mind, especially when she remembered that he had been home alone while the lights had been out. She couldn’t forget the smell of cigars and whiskey that had clung to him – together with his cologne, it had been a pleasant, very masculine mixture of scents. Of course, the implication of it haunted her – more so when Tyrion had told her that his father did not smoke, at least to his knowledge.

She knew that people dealt with death in the family in various ways and she was reluctant to think that Tyrion’s father had developed some unhealthy habits – he just didn’t seem like the type to succumb to such temptations but she still worried about him.

Then there was also the embarrassing truth that once she had seen Mr. Lannister with her own grown-up eyes, she couldn’t _unsee_ the fact that he still was a handsome, attractive man. As a teenager, it hadn’t even occurred to her to look at Mr. Lannister as anything else but her friend’s father. Gods, it was ridiculous. He was old enough to be her father. He was the father of one of her best friends! And he thought that Sansa was a silly girl with the intelligence of a two-year-old. She was twenty-five but she supposed that spending time surrounded by children aged six really didn’t help her in acting like a mature adult.

Groaning, she buried her face in her hands and grabbed the nearest cushion, muffling another groan against it. Here she was on a Friday night, thinking about Mr. Lannister instead of being out with Harry Hardyng, the PE teacher who had asked her out twice already. Harry had also blond hair, was tall and muscular and had wonderful powder-blue eyes. He was very handsome but he hadn’t sparked the same response in her Mr. Lannister had. Sansa wasn’t sure Harry was going to ask her for a third time, anyway, so it probably didn’t matter.

The lyrics of her favorite song filled up her tiny flat. She had no idea where she had put her phone, so she spent the next several seconds looking for it frantically before she could answer.

She didn’t recognize the number and frowned slightly. “Yes?”

There was silence for a moment but she heard as someone took a long breath before a rich deep voice answered, “Miss Stark?”

Sansa’s heart started to beat wildly, doing its best to beat out of her chest.

“Oh, Mr. Lannister, hello!” She swallowed, tightly closed her eyes and shook her head. She sounded like an overexcited Labrador puppy faced with a giant puddle of mud.

“Is this a bad time?” he asked quietly. “I hope I’m not interrupting your plans for tonight.”

She checked the time – it was almost 10 p.m. Why was he calling her at this hour? “No, no, it’s alright. How can I help you?”

He didn’t answer immediately but when he did, his voice was even deeper, tired. “Did you mean it, Miss Stark? That you would listen if I wanted to… talk?”

“Of course.” Her answer was instantaneous, she didn’t hesitate.

“Why?”

Now Sansa stilled and glanced around her tiny little flat. The rent was almost too much for her but she was proud to say that she managed thus far. Answer to Mr. Lannister’s question was not printed on the walls, though, and she wouldn’t find it on her bookshelves either. Taking a deep breath, she nodded to herself.

“It was hard when my dad died. Robb, that’s my older brother, had to leave school so he could find a job. We had to sell the house, eventually, and move into something smaller. It was crowded for the most part, especially when Uncle Robert or Uncle Stannis dropped by with Renly. But there was always someone around if I needed to bawl my eyes out…”

Gods, she was babbling again, wasn’t she? What was the actual point Sansa wanted to make?

“Do I look like someone prone to bawling his eyes out?” asked Mr. Lannister after a while with a soft snort.

“Well, no. I just thought…” She bit her lip, sliding down to lie on her couch. “It’s not easy, facing something like this alone.”

She really hoped that Mr. Lannister wouldn’t take as an insult. She didn’t pity him, even if it maybe sounded like that. She didn’t want to sound nosey either, or judgmental of his family. She just wanted to let him know that she understood and that she would be happy to help in any way she could.

“And sometimes, it’s easier talking to a stranger than to one’s family,” she added, thinking about Renly who she hadn’t known that well when growing up and who had become one of the most important persons in her life.

“I don’t think you qualify as a stranger. Do you still have the keys to my house?” he asked dryly.

“No, I returned them to Tyrion weeks ago.”

“Well, then you’ll have to ring the doorbell like any normal person the next time you visit, I suppose.”

“However will I manage?” she wondered loudly and smiled when she heard him snort.

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” he said. After a beat, he added, “Thank you for your time this evening, Miss Stark. I’ll think about what you’ve said.”

He sounded like they had been conducting a job interview or something and he was politely letting her know that she did not meet the requirements. It stung a little but Sansa caught herself nodding and shook her head. He couldn’t see that, could he?

“It was no problem, Mr. Lannister. Have a good evening.”

“Thank you, you too.”

With that, the line went silent and Sansa stared at her phone, her heart still beating loudly and her cheeks uncomfortably hot. What an utterly unproductive phone call. What had she expected to hear from Mr. Lannister? Why had she really wanted to hear something from the man? Stupid, stupid, stupid Sansa.

If Harry asked her out again, she would say yes.

***

To her surprise, Mr. Lannister called her on Sunday morning and asked her if she would like to accompany him on a trip to the docks that afternoon. She was shocked to hear that he had considered her words and had decided to take her up on the offer of listening.

They actually met at the small docks south of King’s Landing’s main port and watched the ships and boats and people mile around. It was a bright cold day, quite windy, but the promise of spring had lured lots of people out of their homes. Apart from the initial greetings and exchange of pleasantries, they were silent. Sansa had promised to listen and Mr. Lannister wasn’t the type to appreciate her mindless chatter.

“I wanted to have Robert Baratheon’s head on a silver platter when he turned up, announcing that he was marrying Cersei,” he said finally and glanced down at her with a small smile. “My wife explained to me that it was not a good idea to have the most popular heavyweight boxing champion in the last fifty years killed and that fifteen years age gap wasn’t so terrible.”

“Did you want to punch him yourself?” Sansa asked curiously and sized him up. She guessed that Mr. Lannister could have landed a pretty heavy surprise hit.

“Violence is beneath me,” he said disdainfully.

“That’s not a no.” Sansa did her best not to grin at him but most probably failed.

His eyes appeared amused for a moment – like a spark in the dark – but he remained silent. He didn’t mention his wife at all in the next half an hour and instead talked about the little docks they were currently in. Apparently, his family had had a hand in the founding construction because there hadn’t been enough space to dock their boats in the main docks at that time.

***

He arranged the next meeting two weeks later. On Wednesdays, Sansa had only morning classes, so she was free for the rest of the day. There was a small park close to his office building where they could chat, he had said, and since it was a warm and sunny afternoon, Sansa was happy to meet him there.

He strode toward her in his suit, with the jacket thrown over his shoulder, his sleeves rolled up and green tie loosened, appearing rather relaxed and casual – for a man like him, at least. “You came.”

“Of course,” she blinked up at him. In the sharp spring sun, his eyes looked like two glinting emeralds and Sansa willed herself not to stare at him for too long. He sat down next to her, glancing around, and she stiffened and slid slightly further down the bench.

“You’re not yet tired of babysitting me?” he asked next with a slight upturn of his lips, but there was something darker in his gaze as he looked at her.

“I’m pretty sure that meeting once in a while doesn’t qualify as babysitting.” Sansa smiled and looked in his direction momentarily before averting her eyes. She had a thing for men in suits, it seemed. Or maybe it was just him.

They sat in silence. Sansa was comfortable with that, she even enjoyed it – growing up with four siblings and one cousin had taught her to appreciate moments of peace. She could also concentrate on her breathing because Mr. Lannister’s proximity made it quite difficult to breathe. She resisted the urge to move even further away from him because he would surely notice that.

“Have you eaten?” The question startled her and she turned to him. Mr. Lannister was not looking at her, he watched instead a small café across the street and she followed his gaze. There was a moment of hesitation as she mulled over her answer. She had eaten but it was quite possible that he hadn’t and he shouldn’t be skipping meals…

“It’s not a difficult question,” he said, stood up and tilted his head. “Come, Miss Stark, I’m in a desperate need of some coffee. We can get a cup and then return to our _silence_.”

His tone was slightly mocking and Sansa glanced at him sharply. Mr. Lannister was giving her a look she didn’t like at all. He appeared irritated.

“I didn’t know you enjoyed my babbling.”

“Your babbling? No, I can’t say I did. However, my son vehemently insists that you are quite intelligent and I’d appreciate having a conversation from time to time,” he told her, staring down at her. Sansa had the feeling that she would simply melt under that intense, burning gaze.

“I’m growing tired of this,” he continued. “You proposed these meetings in the first place yet you act as if it’s such a chore for you, Miss Stark. You don’t look at me, you can’t think of anything to say, and you are clearly uncomfortable in my company. Shall we end this charade?”

Sansa was both blushing and gaping like a fish when he finished, looking up at him in shock. She couldn’t tell him that his closeness was making her feel light-headed and that she couldn’t look in his eyes without turning as red as a tomato. “I-I…”

“Yes? See what I mean?” Mr. Lannister scoffed. “What possessed you to agree to Tyrion’s schemes is beyond me, but it ends now.”

“No!” Sansa finally managed to produce a whole word. Closing her eyes briefly in mortification, she forced herself to take a breath and then look at Mr. Lannister. “I mean, I’m sorry if you think so badly of me and Tyrion. He has nothing to do with this, though. I offered because I meant it. And I offered to listen…”

“If I wanted to listen to my own damned voice for hours on end, I wouldn’t bother meeting with you, Miss Stark,” he growled, taking a step closer, towering over her. “What are you playing at?”

“I’m not playing… It’s just… I’m just nervous in your company, Mr. Lannister!” Sansa admitted and watched as he frowned and took a step back.

“Nervous?” There was disbelief in his tone, in his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest and continued to glare at her. “Why?”

“Well, you’re Mr. Lannister,” she said as if it be self-explanatory. It clearly wasn’t because his frown grew more pronounced, his eyes darkened. This was not working, she supposed. “You have an intimidating presence.”

“Are you afraid of me?” His voice was quiet and he dropped his arms when he realized that his posture alone could be making her more uncomfortable. He clasped his hands behind his back, staring at her. His expression turned cold and scathing words followed. “Now, that’s almost insulting, Miss Stark, and it confuses me even more – why have you offered to lend me your _willing_ ear?”

Sansa’s eyes were wide as she gazed up at him. Mr. Lannister was in a really confrontational mood today, wasn’t he? She had no idea what to say to him so she wouldn’t make matters worse. She just knew that she didn’t want him to think that she had offered to listen to him only because of Tyrion, or that she was scared of him. Judging by his reaction, he wasn’t insulted by that notion but _hurt_ by it.

“Look, I’m socially awkward like that,” she said turning away from him, trying to breathe. Sansa was usually a blushing ball of nerves every time she had to talk to a handsome guy but she wasn’t going to tell him _that_. Admitting that she found the father of her friend attractive to the man’s face was never going to happen. Just no.

Glancing back at him, she smiled softly and added, “I’m sorry if it looked like I wasn’t sincere. I’m just nervous in your company and it will take me a bit before I get comfortable enough.”

Mr. Lannister was observing her carefully, his eyes flicking around her face, and then he relaxed, obviously mollified. “We shall see, I suppose… Now, what do you say to that coffee and some conversation?”

“I can manage a conversation,” Sansa promised, still blushing and nodded. “And coffee sounds wonderful.”

“Good, let’s go, then.”

***

Since agreeing to actually _converse_ with Mr. Lannister, their meetings became a regular occurrence and Mr. Lannister even called from time to time. It was easy to understand why Tyrion had been so concerned for his father and why had been Mr. Lannister so very suspicious about her intentions. The man had literary no friends, only business associates, and if he wasn’t at the office, he was working at home.

“So, how is the therapy going?” asked her Tyrion one early summer evening. Tyrion had just returned from Braavos for the holidays and they were sitting outside of a small restaurant, sipping their lemonades and watching as the sun slowly sunk behind the horizon.

“What therapy?” Sansa looked at her friend, confused. She was quite occupied with the thoughts of his father and had happily gotten lost in them. Then she noticed how her friend was grinning and resisted the urge to throw her napkin at him. She was trying to act like a mature young woman, after all. “Tyrion!”

“My father’s therapy, I meant,” he said sheepishly and reached for his glass. “You know, when he asked me about you, I was stunned. I still don’t know how you convinced him to talk to you but I’m glad you did.”

She ducked her head and blushed. “It’s nothing, really. He was just very lonely, I guess, and talking to a first-grade teacher was probably better than to sit home all the time.”

“Sansa Stark, why are you blushing when is my father mentioned?” he asked her next, his eyes alight with amusement. He leaned over the table to look at her more closely. “It’s a fetching shade of pink, if I may say so!”

“What? I’m not!” Sansa cried, knowing very well that her face was glowing red. Her pale complexion didn’t allow for much privacy of thoughts.

“Oh, you are! I’m not blind, you know, you can’t hide that from me.” Tyrion chuckled and tugged at her hair. “Confess! Do you have _a_ _crush_ on my father? Oh, gods, look at your face! You do!”

“Of course not! We’re friends of sorts.” She refused to say anything more and the thought of strangling her laughing friend was even more tempting than usual. “Will you shut up? People are looking our way! I feel like I’m sitting here with a lunatic… Tyrion! Stop that!”

“I feel insulted, Sansa!” He gasped for breath and shook his head. “First Jaime and now my father? I am the most handsome man in the family! Honestly, have you no eyes?”

“Don’t bring up your brother,” Sansa begged, mortified. Having a crush on Jaime had been probably the most embarrassing time in her life because it had been so obvious to all around her. Jaime had been very cool about it, though, and had never made fun of her – unlike Tyrion and her own brothers.

“Sorry, sorry!” Tyrion continued to laugh. It took him some time before he calmed down – by then, Sansa’s face was back to her normal color and she was glaring at him, unamused.

“Are you done?” she asked frostily.

“For the time being, yes,” he replied and then he glanced at her, his eyes losing some of their spark. “So, do you have a crush on my father or not? I’m asking seriously now, Sans.”

When she looked at him, she couldn’t quite force herself to speak, so she shrugged helplessly. Sansa wasn’t in the habit of lying to her friends and family but she wasn’t comfortable acknowledging the truth either.

Tyrion grew even more serious and took a sip from his glass before he spoke, “I’m sorry I laughed like that. You’re not the first or last person to fall under the Lannister charm…”

Sansa groaned and buried her face in her hands.

“No, no! I’m serious,” he told her. “Dad and Jaime are both like magnets for women. Money and good looks are often more of a hindrance, you see…”

She peeked between her fingers at him. Tyrion was frowning down at his glass. “You’re a handsome and rich guy, too. You know that, right?”

“Of course, I’m just better at hiding it this close to the floor,” he said with a chuckle and reached to grasp her hand. “What I’m trying to say, Sansa, is that I don’t want to see you hurt, ok?”

“Don’t worry about me,” she covered his hand with hers. She wasn’t stupid and she didn’t need Tyrion to tell her that his father was certainly not seeing her in that light. “It’s just a silly crush and it will be over quickly… Now, let’s focus on your love life! How are things with Shae? Are you going to invite her over?”

***

They talked about millions of random things. From the latest news they had heard on the radio on their way to work to the thunderstorms that were going to hit King’s Landing in the coming weeks. They talked about their families and everyday lives.

Sansa talked about Robb, who was going to welcome her niece in the world soon, about Jon and his new post as an assistant chief officer at the Wall, about Arya and her boyfriend Gendry who were rebuilding cars, about Bran’s physical therapy, about Rickon’s volunteering at the animal shelter, about her pupils, about her mother and her new friend Davos.

Mr. Lannister mentioned his wife from time to time and how she had always supported their children. How Jaime had outright refused to succeed him one day and had chosen a military career. How Cersei had been swept off her feet by a certain charismatic boxer. How Tyrion was the most intelligent of his children, and the one who took after Mr. Lannister the most. How the current take-over he was negotiating was going. How little Tommen always seemed to pee all over Joffrey when the boy held his baby brother.

Sansa had gotten over her stupid crush during those times and she managed to sit comfortably in Mr. Lannister’s presence, even close enough to smell his cologne. She could meet his eyes when they talked and she stopped blushing every time she saw him in one of his expensive suits.

They met during lunch breaks, sometimes with one of Sansa’s siblings or Renly tagging along for a quick snack, or over dinner at Mr. Lannister’s house even when Tyrion was home chatting with both of them. They took walks around docks or in parks often. Sansa had also accompanied Mr. Lannister when he took his grandchildren to the zoo or museums and once or twice he had helped her with late grocery run and stayed for dinner at her place. It had become a comfortable routine for them, she supposed, and they had become friends.

Every time she met Mr. Lannister, though, it was more and more clear to her that she had fallen in love with him and she wasn’t sure how to deal with that. Sansa just smiled and nodded and offered her own comments and observations, sharing her life with the man, all the while knowing how much their friendship meant for her. Mr. Lannister had become as central as the rest of her real and adoptive family. He meant for her as much as Mum and her brothers and Arya and Jon, or as much as Renly and Loras and Margaery, her very best female friend. Of course, Mr. Lannister was Uncle Robert’s father-in-law and Tyrion’s father and both Tyrion and Robert held a special place in her heart, so it never came as a surprise for the other important people in Sansa’s life and they quite cheerfully included the stern man in their day-to-day madness.

She liked to have Mr. Lannister as a friend, as such a fundamental part of her life that it was normal to appear at his house on Sunday afternoon with muffins from her Mum without calling in advance, and she wouldn’t endanger that with something as stupid and flighty as _feelings_.

Meanwhile, life happened.

***

It was one of those quiet lazy evenings when it was too hot to even think about doing anything productive. Sansa and Mr. Lannister were enjoying their sundaes – chocolate and vanilla for him and lemon and strawberry for her, naturally. He still looked slightly shocked that she had managed to make him go out for a sundae instead of a proper dinner on this particular Friday. She smirked when she thought that he wasn’t looking displeased, though.

“What’s so amusing, Miss Stark?” he asked dryly and leaned back in his chair. She shook her head and decided not to tell him that there was a smudge of vanilla ice cream on his upper lip.

“I’m just glad we went.”

“Well, I suppose that I have to indulge you in acting like a child from time to time.” Sighing, he settled his gaze on her, amusement shining in his eyes. “How are your first-graders doing, actually?”

Now Sansa laughed, shaking her head. “They’ll be in the third grade next fall, Mr. Lannister. I think you should perhaps stop calling them that. Being a third-grader is quite a thing, you see. Adults just don’t get it.”

“Is it? Oh, my bad, then… How are you almost third-graders doing?” The small smile he gave her made her heart flutter but that wasn’t anything remarkable. He never grinned like his son, and he never laughed loudly. Mr. Lannister usually smiled only slightly but she could see it mostly in his eyes.

Sansa launched into talking about her pupils – it was her favorite topic – and he listened without interrupting her, appearing lost in his own thoughts. She wondered what he was thinking about – it wasn’t anything serious. Mr. Lannister frowned when he was mulling about serious issues.

When she finally needed to catch her breath after sharing all her news, he made use of the opportunity and asked, “I was wondering if you would like to come with me on a little trip, Miss Stark.”

Her mind came to a sudden screeching halt and she blinked up into his face, not quite understanding the question. “What trip?”

Mr. Lannister’s eyes flicked between her own for a moment and then he averted his gaze, cleared his throat and frowned. “A trip somewhere that’s not King’s Landing. I’m growing restless surrounded by metal and glass and concrete. I’m never comfortable here for too long.”

She knew with certainty that Mr. Lannister hadn’t left the city in the two years they had known each other better. Sansa also knew that the Lannisters had often taken trips when the children had been younger. It was one of the things Cersei missed – but with Joff and Myrcella always fighting and Tommen so young, the Baratheons had given up on that endeavor for the time being.

But why was he asking her? Then she wanted to smack herself. Tyrion was hardly going to enjoy a trip with his dad – he still wasn’t out of that phase yet – and Sansa was the person Mr. Lannister saw most often. There wasn’t anything suspicious about friends going on a trip, together, was there?

“Sure, when?”

“How tomorrow sounds?” he asked idly, glancing at her as he was rearranging items on the table. “It’s a bit of a drive and we’ll be back in King’s Landing late in the evening, so I think this Saturday works the best.”

Sansa bit her lower lip and shook her head, attracting Mr. Lannister’s full attention. His eyes narrowed and he raised one eyebrow in question.

“I can’t. I already promised to go out with someone tomorrow.” Even as she was saying those words, she cringed inwardly at how squeaky her voice sounded. The last thing she wanted to do was to talk with Mr. Lannister about her possible date.

“Well, another day, then,” he said slowly. Then he tilted his head to the side. “Tell me, Miss Stark, are you going on a date?”

Of course, he had to zone in on that. It was a logical conclusion – he knew all her friends, after all, and she usually told him what she was doing and with whom without prompting. Maybe, she thought, she went into too much detail quite often.

“I… well… maybe?” Sansa closed her eyes, blushing. “Yeah, I think it’s… a date… I mean, we haven’t called it a d-date but… It probably is.”

And she needed to shut up right now. She chanced a look at him and watched as Mr. Lannister’s expression shuttered close – it was like watching a curtain fall – and suddenly there were no emotions in his eyes, no real expression on his face.

“I see,” he told her flatly and then continued to eat his ice cream.

The silence was becoming uncomfortable and Sansa suppressed the urge to fill it up with her chatter. She would not be offering details about her date to Mr. Lannister – he looked like he didn’t want to hear it. He appeared quite put out at her for spoiling his Saturday plans, actually.

Before she could decide if she should offer her apology, he stood up, giving her a swift nod. “I’m sorry, Miss Stark, I need to get going. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.”

Mr. Lannister didn’t give her time to respond and strode out. Sansa blinked and swallowed and had a distinct impression that she had just hurt his feelings and she didn’t like that… But why? It wasn’t like he cared about who was Sansa seeing, was it?

***

Her date with a young veterinarian named Ramsay was one big disaster and she decided to run out on him in the middle of their meal. He was a boring conversationalist – his favorite topic was hunting and fishing and Sansa wasn’t sure how long she could fake interest in those. No matter how much she tried to steer the conversation to something that didn’t involve blood and guts, he always steered it back. No amount of cuteness and boyish good looks could save that man. Sansa was done with him.

There was also the little fact that he wasn’t tall, blond and green-eyed, but she had tried – and failed – not to compare poor Ramsay to Mr. Lannister. She paid for her meal on the way t the bathroom and then she sneaked out through the backdoor, sending him a quick _sorry_ when she was several blocks away from the restaurant.

Checking the time after arriving home, she contemplated her ruined evening plans and deeply regretted not going on that trip with Mr. Lannister. She wondered if he had gone on his own and if he was already back. She also felt bad for running his plans and hurting his feeling by her refusal to accompany him. There also was the insane need to let him know that the date had been terrible.

“There goes nothing,” Sansa muttered, grabbed the lemon cake she had baked in the afternoon and locked the door behind her.

During the drive to Mr. Lannister’s house, the dark had fallen and Sansa was a little apprehensive when she got out of her car. There were no lights on – which was surprising as she expected at least Tyrion to be home… and then the shook her head, scoffing. Why would Tyrion be home on a Saturday night? He was fond of parties, after all. Silly, stupid Sansa.

Did that mean, however, that nobody was home?

Refusing to give up after she had just spent 30 minutes in the car, she moved to the door and rang twice. Like a normal person usually did, she smiled to herself.

For the longest of moments, there was no indication that Mr. Lannister was home. She turned and was half-way back to her car when she heard, “Miss Stark?”

Turning, she offered him a small wave. “Hi, Mr. Lannister.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, opening the door. The house remained dark and she watched him as he leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest and giving her an uninterested look. “Shouldn’t you be enjoying your date?”

Uncertain about her welcome, Sansa remained where she was, holding the plate with the lemon cake in both hands. She probably looked like an idiot. “I came bearing gifts and begging for forgiveness?”

She could see how his irritation melted away and he snorted, opening the door wide and flicking the lights on. “I take it your date didn’t go well if you are darkening my doorstep at… 10 p.m. Do you need to talk about it?”

She smiled widely and shook her head. “The less is said about Ramsay and his enthusiasm for hunting, the better. I just need someone to help me eat this cake… Preferably someone who will also offer me hot chocolate?”

“The whole cake? That bad, my dear?” Mr. Lannister took it from her hands, his thumbs caressing hers in the process. He gazed into her eyes for a moment and Sansa shivered, not understanding the look she saw in those green depths. She swallowed and ducked her head because she could feel her cheeks heating up under his intense stare.

He had never before called her anything but _Miss Stark_. What was happening?

“Awful. I should have gone on that trip with you,” she whispered and dared to glance back up at him.

“Hmm, yes,” Mr. Lannister agreed and moved swiftly toward the kitchen. Sansa followed, quite confused but happy to be in his presence. His dry humor was like a balm on her soul after Ramsay’s annoying prattle.

Sansa found Mr. Lannister as he was slicing the cake but he stopped when she joined him. She watched his hands instead of his face and couldn’t force herself to look up. She had been really stupid when she had thought that those feelings would go away and that trying to date other people would help. It made her feel a lot worse, actually.

“It must have been a truly terrible date if it managed to stop your incessant chatter,” he observed. She watched as the hands put the knife away and then something extraordinary happened.

Those hands moved and reached out to her. She couldn’t recall a single occasion when the two of them had ever touched – and now here Mr. Lannister was, reaching for her twice in one evening.

She watched as he took hold of her forearms and tugged her closer – so close that their fronts were touching and she was forced to raise her eyes and stare at his chest. He wore a dark blue t-shirt and while t-shirts didn’t have the same effect on her as suits, she was content to stare at the fabric for the time being.

Mr. Lannister put his forefinger under her chin, though, and lifted her head to look up at him. Gods, his eyes were really so green it was impossible to breathe properly. Sansa still tried to take a shuddering breath. He smelled of soap this evening, not of cologne, and the smell was so domestic it was disarming. Did he smell of soap every morning, all sleepy, ruffled and warm?

“Why are you here, Sansa?” he asked her softly.

She shook her head, closed her eyes, and tried to step away but Mr. Lannister was keeping a firm hold on her forearm.

“You can tell me,” he whispered soothingly. “We tell each other about all the important things in our lives, do we not?”

This time, she nodded – but she still didn’t have an answer ready. How could she tell him that he was the only one person she wanted to have around when upset? That she couldn’t think about other men because he was the only one for her? He had ruined her forever, she had just been too stupid to notice.

“Did this Ramsay upset you?” His thumb caressed her jawline and she felt his fingers tangle with her hair as he palmed the nape of her neck. Sansa shook her head silently, refusing to open her eyes. She couldn’t bear to see his expression – if it matched his voice, the gentleness in it would bring her to tears.

Sansa was not going to cry in front of Mr. Lannister. She was not. Yet she felt her eyes welling already. Why he had to speak so quietly to her, hold her so tenderly? Didn’t he know what a torture it was?

“Why have you come to me?” He was so close that his breath ghosted over her skin. Sansa’s knees felt weak and she trembled, the tears finally spilling from under her lids.

“I couldn’t bear to be anywhere else,” she confessed, her voice breaking.

Mr. Lannister’s lips touched her cheeks, kissing those tears away so very softly, with such care as if she was made of glass and the tiniest gust of wind would shatter her. And then, those very same lips brushed against hers, a feather-light touch.

“Good?” he murmured. Sansa wasn’t sure she could formulate a coherent thought, let alone an answer. She nodded instead, sighing when Mr. Lannister pressed another kiss against her lips, this time more firmly, this time lingering for a long moment.

“Still good?”

“Yes,” she whispered breathlessly and felt as he wrapped his arm around her waist, the hand at the nape of her neck keeping her head in place as he kissed her again, biting her lower lip.

“And now?”

“Mm-hmm.”

Sansa opened her eyes when she felt him smile against her mouth. Mr. Lannister gave her a knowing smirk and a responding smile tugged at the corners of her lips. His eyes were bright and he looked years younger when he smiled like that, like a boy. She never loved him more.

“I think we should leave the lemon cake for breakfast. What do you say, Miss Stark?”

“What a brilliant idea, Mr. Lannister.”

***

Mr. Lannister whisked Miss Stark away on their trip the following weekend. A month after that, most of her things had gradually found their way into his home. Mr. Lannister was since then always welcomed home by the sight of their brightly lit house and after Miss Stark became Mrs. Lannister, often by laughter of his wife and children. None of their mutual friends and family was surprised by any of those happenings.

Mr. and Mrs. Lannister even called each other by their given names, but only occasionally – in the privacy of their bedroom, in the warmth and darkness somewhere between dreaming and waking where every sigh echoed and every touch burned and no light was needed because they carried the brightest flame in their hearts.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I sat down, thinking about how I was going to write another chapter for ‘Sanctuary,’ and then I opened the text editor… And here we are. *hides behind the desk* I hope you don’t mind this one-shot instead. *cheerfully waves and ducks down again* Cheers, Mad :)


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